Insomnia
by Cath1
Summary: As soon as my head hits the pillow I start thinking. And I'm thrust into this world of complete consciousness. [Slightly J/D]


insomnia

Author: Cath

Feedback: Would be loved – button_mush@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: They belong not to me.

Spoilers: Umm… who knows. Series 4, general, perhaps. 

Summary: As soon as my head hits the pillow I start thinking. And I'm thrust into this world of complete consciousness. 

Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you to Amber and Julia for helping this piece make sense! Josh version may be on its way soon… 

All fics can be found at www.geocities.com/button_mush/westwing.htm 

Donna POV 

~*~ insomnia ~*~

It used to be that as soon as I crawled into bed I'd immediately fall asleep. 

Lately, for some reason, it's not been happening. I'm exhausted all day, relying on coffee to keep me awake enough to work, but as soon as my head hits the pillow I start thinking. 

And I'm thrust into this world of complete consciousness. 

All of a sudden, every tiny, irrelevant thing spins my head around in circles, refusing to let go. Like, did I lock the door? I think I did, but it was such an automatic action that I can't be certain. Is the possibility of someone breaking in, stealing my life away from me, worth me getting up and checking? I lie there for about half an hour, trying to decide. 

I always check. 

It's always locked. 

So now, as soon as I come through the door I make a mental note of the fact that I have locked it. It's one less thing to worry about. 

Other things occur to me. Did I put the file on Josh's desk before I left? Did I leave it out where someone might think that it's trash and accidentally throw it away? Will my alarm wake me in the morning? What was that really important thing that I was supposed to remember to do? Am I going to get all the work done tomorrow before Josh goes to his three o'clock meeting? Do I know what I'm supposed to be doing? Will CJ think that the comment that I made about paperclips/feminism/Josh was juvenile/offensive/inappropriate? Why am I not married with the obligatory 2.4 children like my mother keeps asking? 

Almost invariably none of these are things to even consider by the light of day. 

Eventually I start reciting the alphabet backward to stop myself. It beats counting sheep, and it's reasonably effective, except that if I stop I'll start thinking again. 

And then it's 'z, y, x, w, v, u, t, s, r, q, p, o, n, m, l, k, j, i, h, g, f, e, d, c, b, a', repeated in a whisper over and over as fast as I can until hopefully I fall asleep. 

I don't, and the cycle starts again. A new thread of thought begins. I begin reminding myself of the sequence of events that I'll have to go through in the morning. Get up, shower, have breakfast, drive to work, ensure the file is on Josh's desk, check Josh's schedule, check email, look for any important messages, get coffee, start research on a, b, and c… And so on. 

I think about Josh sometimes. Not like that. 

Well, sometimes, maybe. 

The fantasies help me forget my obsessive paranoia, and I repeat them over in my head, adding new details, amending others. 

And I'm under no illusion that it's likely, or even possible, but I like to retreat from real life, from all the worrying and the constant mental reminders of what I've got to do. 

I find it amusing that Josh is my sense of calm; my way to relax into the possibility of unconsciousness. Josh - the anti-calm, the bundle of barely contained energy – becoming something that I find peaceful. 

I like to think that he'd find it amusing as well. 

Then I get completely absorbed in the fantasy; thinking and almost seeing this ideal life pass by. Watch the progression of the friendship between Josh and me, impress him with this wonderful speech that I construct on why we ought to be going out, he leans over, kisses me, I feign shock, sly grin, kiss again. Go out to nice restaurant, eat and drink wine all evening, make love all night. 

Well, I'll never be accused of being a realist. 

To be honest, I'm not sure if I'd ever want it to happen like that – so uncharacteristically perfect. But my exhausted-but-awake mind can only construct very simple structures of events, the variation consisting mostly of familiar locations. 

But eventually, the realities persist through the thoughts and I'll open my eyes. Glancing at the clock I'll see that almost an hour's past, and yet I'm no nearer sleep. 

And I'll start thinking again, my brain on overload. 

And then I'll have to start with reciting the alphabet again, backward, forward, and I'm right at the beginning.   

I've tried other techniques, too. I'll lie on the bed, thinking about my toes, legs, buttocks, arms, shoulders, face, relaxing them as I think. But the outcome is no different. 

Sleep is constantly elusive in the dark hours, the time when I want to rejuvenate my brain so that I can be myself in the morning. 

I'm often not myself, and I think people notice. 

But then, we're a whole army of semi-conscious beings, trying to overcome the dark forces with black circles under our eyes and coffee for our circulatory system. 

I wonder what they think about at night. If they try and push aside worries about the future and substitute them with worries about trivial problems of the moment, problems that they have control over.  

Sometimes I think I'm losing it. That I'm unravelling quickly under the pressure, headed for a complete downfall by the time we reach election. 

I wonder what it will take to pick myself up again. 

I wonder if we're all going to have to help each other up. 

FINI 


End file.
